The Cursed Life of Albus Severus Potter
by Vermouth
Summary: Utter and complete randomness, courtesy of one Albus Severus Potter
1. Eccentric Evil Etimologies

**Chapter One**

**Eccentric Evil Etymologies**

My name is Albus Severus Potter. When one has a name like that, how on Incesty-Morgana's frickin' green earth can my life not go to the dogs?

I'm positive that my parents have never loved me, to Merlin-en me with that name. If I were born a Muggle, my blasted progenitors would have christened me with something decent; but no, I was born a wizard, so they had to Merlin-en me with something as obnoxious as "Albus Bloody Severus". Well, minus the "Bloody". Auntie Hermione would have a fit if she knew I use such a word. I swear, I love her to bits, but I don't know how much she will last with that language-freak tendency of hers.

I suspect that when I was born I resembled a Blast-Ended Skrewt, which is why they cursed me with this wretched, stupid name. I must have been one heck of an ugly baby.

First name: _Albus_. Do you know just how many things are wrong with that? Flippin' heck – it sounds like a sodding Teletubbie. And the gay one at that. Did my parents name me like that because it was their deepest hearts' desire to have a homosexual son? They have fought all of their lives against wizard prejudices, so maybe they thought they had to fight against Muggle prejudices, too? Should I start carrying a purple handbag? Well, curse them, because I won't! I refuse to allow my parents obscene wishes to dictate my life! I will not swing that way to please them, I very much fancy girls – thank you!

Middle name: _Severus_. Honestly, my parents are perverts. _Disgusting_. It sounds like a male-dominatrix thing. I'm not a male-dominatrix, for Merlin's sake! I am not about to carry a whip and tacky leather tights with a hole to keep my privates breezy. I repeat – my parents are sex-craved nitwits. Do you know just how _wrong_ that is?

Plus, I was named after dead people. _Corpses_. Bloody morbid, to bear the name of rotting bits of flesh. My brother was, too; but at least he got a cool one: "James Sirius". He was named after my _dead_ grandfather and my dad's _dead_ godfather. But nobody laughs when they call him. In fact, he is considered the height of cool: dad's hair, mum's – er – charming looks, Gryffindor Captain, Marauder II extraordinaire and the, er, "sexy hunk" every bleeding girl is after. That is just wrong on so many levels.

I looked up the people I have been named after. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was Headmaster when dad and mum were at school. So what if he and my dad are supposed to be the greatest wizards of all times? So what if the bloke whipped Grindelwald's skinny arse while doing a black-flip? The man was as old as dirt and had a fetish with candy! He was also electrocuted as a child because it says everywhere that he eyes were always twinkling!

The other _great_ man I owe my _elegant_ name to was Severus _Sodding_ Snape. Don't get me started.

_Death Eater._

_Fancied the knickers off my grandma Lily, even after she went off pushing daisies. _Gross_._

_His hair was so greasy you could skate on it._

_He hated my dad and made his life miserable_.

Yes, you may ask. Why oh why did my parents name me after that nasty piece of a wizard? Because they _hate_ me! From the moment I came out of my mum's You-Know-What they decided to doom my life! It's _blatant_ child abuse!

I have figured it all out, you see. I may not look like it, but I'm a cunning Slytherin genius, so of course my brilliant mind would be able to fathom how the simple brains of those Gryffindorks work. Ha-bloody-ha, take that you two!

I was born as ghastly as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Upon seeing me, my dad ("The Vanquisher of Dark Lords") and my mum, ("The Girl Possessed By An Evil Talking Diary") had a fit. They went bonkers, as I reminded them too much of those dark times they went through eons ago. They must have thought I was going to be a Voldemort II. Pfft. _As if_. If I were to become a mass-murdering sociopath, I would pick a cool name, such as "Mega Thunder Deathbringer from Hell". Voldemort had no class whatsoever.

My mum also likes to embarrass me by telling everyone I know that I when I was a baby, I was literally attached to her chest because I always wanted to be fed. _Brilliant_, I had also Dementor-like perverted tendencies that concerned my mother's womanly bits.

So anyway, they had to name the evil baby, hadn't they? But since I was going to be an Evil Dark Lord, they went for "Albus". Nobody would be afraid of a wicked psycho called like that. They wanted me to choose between what's right and what's easy. They wanted me to choose old age and candy over conquering the world.

Then they picked "Severus". They wanted me to be a bitter and greasy. They wanted birdies to flee at the sight of me. They also probably wanted me to fancy someone else's dead ancestor. They want me to die at the age of thirty-eight, bitten by a blue-buttocked baboon by the name of Nagini.

So all in all, I was born a Skrewt who Dementor-ed my mother's breasts. I am to become a poof who likes shoving Billywig Bars up my arse while doing a Full Monty with my private-breezy leather tights. I'm fated to lust after the corpse of Voldemort. I'm jinxed to have an oil factory as hair. I will die a silly death, young and bitten by a Flobberworm.

You say your life sucks. Bah. Top _that_.

**-oOoOoOoOo-**

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Harry Potter, that's JKR. I'm not JKR. I'm an alien from Saturn. I have blue skin.

**A/N**: Well, if you believe it, the plot for this story sparked in my mind in the middle of a Surgery Exam. I was in the middle of using my scalpel on a generous person who left his body for Science and Research after he died when this story popped in my brain. Just how odd can I get? I should become best friends with Luna Lovegood. We would rule the world!

Anyway, if you liked it, please do review. I'm incredibly random and goofy in real life, but for some mysterious reason, I seem to be unable to write humorous fics (i.e. "Over the Horizon" etc). So little future doctor me is feeling a bit insecure with this.

Cheers.

Vermouth

Member of the Siriusan Order

PS – I'm known as "Kristen" on HPFF, so if by any chance you come across my fics there, it's still me woot woot


	2. Rambunctious Revolting Relatives

**Chapter Two**

**Rambunctious Revolting Relatives**

It's the first of September. I'm to go back to Hogwarts today to do my sixth year. I'm sixteen. I'm my dad's carbon copy. I live surrounded by hormonal flat-encephalogram idiots. Blee-arg.

The sun shines, birds chip, dogs bark merrily, my sister Lily yells something about the importance of hugging trees, my brother James burps "Hoggy Warty Hogwarts" in my face. Joy to the frickin' world. Welcome to Potter Bedlam.

I live at Potter Manor. It's huge. It's so big I'm considering hiring one of those Muggle touristic guides. If I get one, I'll make sure he is not Japanese. No offence to the people from that country, but I was freaked out as a kid when an elderly Japanese couple took enough photos of my family to become richer than the Queen of England if they sold them. Since then, I make it a monthly ritual to burn cameras. _Mwahahahaha_.

I don't burn Japanese people, though. That would be cruel.

So anyway - my place. I still get lost in it, even though I have spent all my life in this place. Oh, I do know which bits of the house I should avoid – West Wing is off limits. Def-o. That's my parents' zone and it's definitely not PG-13.

I swear, if I have to hear my mum howling at my dad "Oh, Dark Lord Potter, set your Basilisk upon me!" one more time – or if I have the terrible bad luck of catching my dad telling my mum "Horcrux, I will make you scream and writhe and yield to the power you know not with my Unbeatable Wand" again, I promise I will be the first wizard to ever successfully manage to perform an Unforgivable with a fake wand.

My parents are freaks.

After too many a time of catching them while boarding the Wild Ride Express, I screamed at my parents to put a stop to their ghastly perverted nature, but my dad told me he just couldn't. He gave me an explanation that I didn't believe at first, but to be honest, I think I do now. It's the only plausible reason. He told me that they had to keep going at it because one celebrated Seer had once prophesied that he would have twelve children.

He was so dead serious I think he told me the truth. Considering the life my old dad had as a teenager, revolving around evil conspiracies, twisted prophecies and whatnot; I'm inclined to believe that if he doesn't have those twelve kids, something terrible might happen. So I'm doomed to put up with the Potter Wildlife Discovery Channel.

How abso-bloody-lutely _spiffing_.

I have an older brother, James Sirius. He is mental. I'm not exactly normal, but he is beyond insane. The first thing you need to know about my brother is that his love for Quidditch is bigger than Hagrid's height. He refuses to be a somewhat mentally stable person: he has changed his signature from "James Potter-plus-a-girly-flourish" to "James Quidditch Potter-plus-a-girly-flourish". He even used that signature on an official Gringotts' Bank form.

Oh my Potter Prongs Patronus! I still have another year of putting up with his Gryffindor Quidditch Madness before he graduates!

Kill me, just kill me now.

James waltzes into my room, grossing me out by only wearing his zooming-Quaffles boxers. I can tell you, it's a tad disturbing when those Quaffles put a halt to their annoying whooshes and locate themselves in a very private part. I think James does it on purpose. Evil brother.

'Oy, Albie,' he says with a smirk, knowing perfectly well how much that nickname miffs me, 'have you seen my Pretty-Patil boxers?'

I roll my eyes at him. Bloke's such a man-whore – granted, I would love it if I were even given the bleeding chance to be a ladies' man like he is (that's a story for another time); but honestly, enough is enough. His obsession with twins borderlines psychotic.

'No, James. Now get out.'

Fortunately, I don't need to tell him twice. He slips out of my neat and tidy blue room. Yes, I'm a neat-freak. Yes, my room is blue. Manly midnight blue, not that baby blue pansy colour, mind you. You may wonder why I my room is blue instead of green-and-silver, my house colours. I will tell you why: no manly male would ever willingly paint his room silver. And green? I wince. My sister Lily is the reason.

But let's go back to James.

The second thing about my brother is that he is a complete womanizer. His mouth is dirtier than the Chamber of Secrets. Girls tend to find him devilishly handsome and just want to Dementor his mouth. I don't know why, seriously. Get rid of my dad's hair inheritance, and he looks just like mum. Does that mean that girls find my mum devilishly handsome and want to Dementor her too? Ooooooh, girl-girl action. _Kinky_.

Oh, wait. This is my mum we are talking about. Ew.

All right, I'm steering my thoughts away from my mum and those practically Oedipus-like thoughts. Otherwise I might just have to _Crucio_ myself until my brains turn into mush. Er, all right. I shouldn't be joking about that. Blame it on my Slytheriness.

'Urg, I hate packing,' I mutter morosely, as a sock worms its way out of my trunk. Just so you know, socks are evil. Especially mines. They run away from me like Umbridge would flee from the Forbidden Forest. Socks were made to make my life miserable.

Twenty minutes later, I'm done. I have checked four times that I have included those items any red-blooded male should have. Of course, that doesn't mean that I will get to use them, because I'm doomed when it comes to girls. But still, it's the thought that counts, peeps.

I drag my trunk downstairs, probably pulling all the muscles in my arm. What can I say? I have my dad's physique when he was my age: I resemble an underfed vampire Skrewt. It's funny, because I never lived in a cupboard.

Oh no. My freakish sister is in the living room.

Let me tell you, you don't want to mess with Lily Potter. She inherited my mum's flaring temper and my dad's wrath. Lily is downright scary. It's as if she were on PMS all the bleeding time. No, it's actually worse than PMS. The girl is on warpath twenty-four/seven.

She is drumming her fingers impatiently on the chess table next to the couch. She has a scowl that promises death, mayhem and all the things green. I know my sister, all right? She is a psycho.

Lily would be very good-looking if she weren't so loopy. I know she is my sister, but I don't consider it incestuous saying that she is pretty. It isn't incestuous, is it? She got grandma Lily's face and dark red hair, but she has grandpa's James hazel eyes. When she smiles, I reckon that Lily is probably the second best-looking girl in the school.

But Lily smiling is as rare as seeing Flitwick sober. Crazy bint is a revolutionary. She is wearing her forest green "Society of Hogwarts' Alumni Growing Morals about our Enviroment" t-shirt – also known as "Shag me". She is oblivious to the subliminal message, though.

Yeah, you got that right. My baby sister only cares about hugging trees, adopting skunks, snogging the living daylights out of flamingos and such zoophile-related things. Lily thinks of herself as Mother Nature's Ambassador. I heard her once consoling the Whomping Willow.

My sister used to wear garments made of leaves stitched together until third year, much to our family's embarrassment. Not wanting to delve too much into womanly growth, my mum and dad flat-out refused to allow that charade for another second. They told her that unless she started sporting normal clothes, they would Portkey to South America and burn down the Amazonas. That got her into a right tiff, but she did give up on her Adam-and-Eve look.

Compared to my family, am I not perfectly normal and sane?

Dad and mum choose to stroll down the stairs just then, both wearing identical smirks. My eyes widen in horror. Not again. Please not again.

I bang my head against the nearest wall. Of all families in the United Kingdom, why do I have to belong to such a wacky one?

I can't wait to go back to Hogwarts. My life there makes sense. Well, almost. There are a few things I can't wrap my head around; but meh, you can't have everything in life. Oh well, the Potters aren't that bad compared to my mum's side of the family, the Weasleys.

The sanest person in the family is my glue-brother Teddy Lupin though. He is my dad's godson. I say "glue-brother" because he seems to be glued to us. Why on earth would someone willingly associate with my family is beyond me, but Teddy is cool. He is a rockstar, lead singer of "Remus and the Werewolves". He's my idol.

Oh, wait until you meet my best mate Scorpius! Despite his Malfoy sliminess, the bloke is brilliant! Really down to earth and sensible, unlike these clowns I have for a family. Scorpius is able to restore my sanity after spending too much time with the Rotter Potter Clan.

That is, unless he has been possessed by his Auntie Daphne's spirit and has gone back to smoking evil things with that shisha of his and playing his banjo.

My life isn't fair.

**-oOoOoOoOo-**

**DISCLAIMER:** JKR owns Harry Potter and millions of pounds. I own my laptop and my fridge's contents.

**A/N: **Oh my giddy Aunt Francis, I'm having so much fun writing this! It's mental. Oh, don't worry, after Albus gets to Hogwarts there is actually a story to tell, not just complete and utter randomness.

I can't claim I understand how the mind of an adolescent boy works, but I do remember when I was sixteen, even if I was a girl. I'm so happy those crazy days are over.

Review? *Puppy eyes*

Cheers.

_Vermouth _

_Member of the Siriusan Order. _


	3. Psychotic Potter Platforms

**Chapter Three**

**Psychotic Potter Platforms**

At last, I'm at King's Cross, about to board the Hogwarts' Express and gain back some of the sanity I lost after spending a whole summer with my batty family. Can you really blame me? You'd lose your mind too if you saw your younger sister snogging a hydrangea bush or your older brother talking to his – _thing_.

The whole Hogwarts' Express thing is hyped, seriously. You see lots of parents with their children standing along the length of the platform, and by the look of their faces it's as if they were sending their offspring to some sort of torture camp. Meh. I figure that my parents are ecstatic to see the back of us, so they can defile the house even more. _Yuck_.

Let me tell you, being a Potter is overrated. Being the son of the Boy Who Lived To Shag the Brains Out Of His Wife isn't as easy as it sounds. For one, I'm always bombarded with questions about my dad. Okay, I get it – my dad is brilliant. What he did was amazing. But seriously, he is an old, perverted fart. It's been eons since he did the old Snake Chump in. You'd think that the novelty would have worn off already, but no, it hasn't.

Second, being the carbon copy of my dad stinks. You'd think that girls would flock my way because of my boyish good-looks, my black windswept hair, my charming personality and my enthralling green eyes. Well, the answer is a rotund "NO!"

You want to know why? Well, that is because of my darling father. You see, the Daily Prophet has caught him and my mum – _wince_ – going at it more than once in public places. Had it been someone else other than Harry Bloody Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, he would have been made laughing stock. In his case, it raised the public opinion about him, witches and wizards and even frickin' _goblins_ all over the world appeared at our doorstep, wanting to have their wicked way with my dad. People are weird.

Anyway, after my parents' perverted nature was made common knowledge, people at Hogwarts started to focus on me. Since I'm my dad's photocopy, you'd think that sexy witches would swarm my way and oooooh, they would form a club such as "Lord Al Potter Sexy-Sexy Club". They would feed me grapes, prance around naked and finally allow me to get rid of this pesky virginity halo that dangles over my head. I reek of purity.

But guess what? It wasn't like that. Instead of being the most sought-after hunk at school, girls decided that it was absolutely important that I remained untouched and unspoiled, because it was like seeing my dad as pure as a unicorn. So when girls come to me, instead of throwing their luscious bodies at me, they see me as a father figure. I'm doomed.

James, the sodding prat, gets all of the girls instead. I really don't get it. I mean my brother applies moisturiser to his – _thing_ to keep it pretty and healthy. He wants to be the winner of the non-existent annual – _thing_ - contest. Should I do that, too? Lily often says that singing to plants makes them grow strong and healthy, so James sings to his – _thing_, too. You don't know how disturbing it is to see him with his – _thing_, singing an NC-17 version of "If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands".

I'm cursed. I'm positive than even Lord Valleypork got some. He must have some pretty wild stuff going on with that blue-buttocked baboon of his, Nagini. I have always wondered why Voldemort had a baboon by his side. Doesn't make too much sense to me. He was a Parselmouth, so he could have snakes under his control. Considering how crazy he was, I wouldn't have been surprised if he got some fun with them. I guess he just didn't swing that way. Actually, I think that Bellatrix Lestrange was so devoted to him because he had no nose. Er, all right, that's just disturbing.

I'm starting to think that all of that stuff I heard about my dad's adventures and his defeat of the Dark Turd is nothing but hogwash. Yeah, I don't deny that he did defeat him, but seriously, I think that most of it is simple embellishments. I'm positive that when Voldemort heard of my dad's randy nature and insatiable sexual appetite, he just did himself in. I know I would have done the same.

Oh wait. That's incest. _Ew_.

So the Hogwarts' Express. I'm here. The train is red, billowing steam, will take me to Hogwarts and all that crazy stuff. My dad is being assaulted by the horny mob, as usual: students, mothers… I roll my eyes. Can't they see that he is more than married? Can't they see that he has a ring in his finger, a wife next to him, and a history between those two that would make those soap operas go green with envy?

And more importantly – can't they see the incredibly handsome teenager who is just standing next to him, more than willing to be deliciously lavished?

My mum is making "shoo, shoo" noises. I snort. Unless she unleashes her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex there's nothing she can do. Considering how mentally disturbed my parents are this is probably another fantasy of them. _Ew_.

'If you wanna be my witch, you gotta get with my broomstick, make it last forever -'

_Brilliant_, my brother is back with his Spice Witches songs. Highly embarrassing, but at least it helps to get rid of the randy fans who would rather sexually harass an old fart instead of the Potterlicious hunk next to him – also known as me.

Dad is talking to us. I used to listen to him, but now my brain is so plagued by adolescent thoughts and girls I just can't find any room for my dad's pep talks. I plaster an attentive expression on my face, but my mind is in Florine Délambert Land. Wait till you see her, she gives my heart palpitations!

'… I'm so proud of you three. I could never imagine I would have two amazing sons and one brilliant daughter. You are all a dream come true,' my dad says tearfully, while my mum nods, big fat H2O drops tugging at her eyes.

Aww, I hug him. Yeah, I'm a softie. So sue me.

Mind you, I pay attention to where I place my hands. I avoid all skin contact. Who knows what my dad was up to last night?

Oh, the crowd goes wild. _Brilliant_, just what I needed. More dung of "awwww, Al Potter is so cute, hugging his dad. Let's all protect his celibacy status!"

You know, at this rate, I will finally succumb to my only stalker and her mental wishes. Yeah, you got that right, I have a stalker and she is a second year. Laura Gloryflower. She pegged me as her future husband the moment she set foot on Hogwarts. She is utterly bonkers and a frickin' second year!

…Plus, she kidnapped me last year, undressed me and forced me to sit through a tea party of hers with her teddy bear Grindelwald and her stuffed snake Voldemort. I'm mortally afraid of her.

I'm in need of my dose of manly masculinity. Oh, Scorpius, Scorpius, where art thou?

… Fraternising with his banjo, most likely, and singing "no Death Eater, no cry".

Is anything in my life ever going to be remotely sane?

**-oOoOoOoOo-**

**DISCLAIMER:** 99% of the characters here belong to JKR. Laura Gloryflower, the insane thoughts and a couple of useless characters are mine though.

**A/N: **yeah, I know. Not extremely funny. I think I only smiled twice while writing this. Blame it on my stupid exams at med school.

So little Albus is mentally deranged. The usual adolescent boy, can't get his mind out of the gutter. Heh heh.

Thanks to all of those who review, you will rule the world!

Until next time,

_**Vermouth**_

_**Member of the Siriusan Order**_


	4. Terrific Traumatic Transport

**Chapter Four**

**Terrific Traumatic Transport**

The moment Lily started ranting about how cruel it was to force us to go through the Hogwarts' Express ride and how damaging the smoke is to our environment, I decided I had had enough and popped into the train. Honestly, I'm fed up with my sister's talks. I have half the mind to go along with that threat and burn the Amazonas down just to miff her. _Die trees, die_!

But then again, if I did, my sister would probably murder me with some sort of plant, and I'd die a virgin, which is unacceptable. Seriously, how pathetic can I get? When I die, girls should mourn me, missing me because I'm the King of Passion – they should never wail because an incarnated Saint left the Land of the Living.

Yeah, I know, I am obsessed. Honestly, you would be obsessed too if you lived among highly active fiends and the best kiss you ever got was from a second year stalker. No, I didn't enjoy it, I'm not a paedophile!

So I'm on the Hogwarts' Express, looking for my best mate Scorpius, my cousin Rosie or my other good friend Elisabeth. The only way to spot Scorpius is by following the scent of his evil shisha. I sniff the air – nothing. I sniff a door, not minding a couple of ickle firsties that look at me as if I had sprouted another head. Pffft. Newbies, always thinking they are whoop-dee-doo brilliant.

Plus, behaving like a dog is the only way to avoid certain unpleasant people. I don't know how many times I have begged my dad to let me borrow his Invisibility Cloak, but he won't budge. He says he uses it for his Auror work, but I doubt it. He is most likely using it for doing wicked things to my mum. _Ew_. Why am I so obsessed with my parents' sexual life? _Ew_.

Let me tell you, no child should put up with what I have to at home. Children should think for the rest of their lives that they were immaculately conceived. My parents – bloody sadists – blew that dream of mine to smithereens. It's a cruel world.

_Aha_! I finally caught a whiff of those nasty fumes. Scorpius swears it is strawberry-flavoured, but it smells as if he was smoking Mrs. Norris II. I understand why he would want to get rid of that cat, but slicing her up and then putting chunks of her into that shisha of his is a tad nasty, if you ask me. Scorpius is weird and a wee bit insane, but he is my best mate and manages to put manly male manhood back inside me. Oh, what would I ever do without him?

Oy, _seriously_! Whoever decorated the Hogwarts' Express had no sense of fashion. These murky yellowish, maroon and orange colours clash horribly. I swear, it makes me want to hit someone. Preferably with a purple handbag, just to have a bigger impact.

_Blast it_! Do you see now why I need Scorpius?

I follow that odious odour. No matter how much I despise that smell, I know it will take me to my best mate. It's destiny, it's been prophesied: Scorpius, me and a shisha, weaved together until death does us part.

Did I just sound incredibly gay?

I shake my head vigorously. _Gay thoughts, go away_! _I'm Al Potter, a Macho Man_! _Shoo_! _Shoo_!

I shove my hands into my pockets and ruffle my already tousled hair. I loosen my tie the way girls like it and produce the trademark Slytherin smirk. _Ha_! That will teach those gay thoughts not to mess with me, Albus Stallion Potter. So there.

Oh heck, the Slug Club is doing their typical conga dance. I had better hide. The last time I had the misfortune to be in the way of their diabolic dance I ended up seriously wounded. Professor Slughorn (yeah, still alive and kicking) and his massive stomach hit me as he twirled around and sent me flying off a window. Let me tell you, Japan is full of people who have an unhealthy obsession with cameras.

All right, so his huge belly didn't cart me off to Japan, it just flung me over the corridor. Still close, though.

Oh, that reminds me, it's the fist of September. That means that tonight a bunch of cameras are to meet their death at my hands. _Mwahahahaha_.

I wonder if that was how Voldemort laughed. Oh wait! Dad said that Voldemort had a shrill voice. So he would his laugher would be something like "mwihihihihi". I wonder how on earth did he become the scariest Dark Lord in History? Seriously, he sounds like a randy cow with a bad case of constipation. I blame it on Nagini: interaction with a baboon must have turned him loopy. Voldymoo Brokeback Mountain, _honestly_.

Run, Al, run! The Slug Club is here!

I give a loud shrill – er, a manly yelp – and dash off to the nearest loo. I don't bother to check if it's the appropriate bathroom. Honestly, my life is in danger! Stomachzilla is on the prowl!

… Plus, if I'm lucky enough, there might be some ladies inside.

Yes! It's the ladies' room! Wooohoo, way to go, Al!

Oh drat, it's empty. Oh well, at least it's a good place to hide. And it's clean, unlike the boys' loo. Still, it would be better if there were some nice lasses around, throwing pillows about in nothing but their knickers.

I giggle. It's every man's dream.

All right, so the slight drool that's trickling down my chin is a tad unbecoming, but can you blame me?

I can hear the Slug Club Train of Choo-Choo Conga twirling around, so I decide that it's a good idea to hide in a stall, extra layers and protection and all that. But why do they have to be so dark? Why isn't there a light on?

Yeah, I know, it's pathetic to be afraid of the dark at the age of sixteen. I blame it on my dad. He used to live under a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life, all gloomy, claustrophobic and plagued with spiders. So I guess I started getting scared of the dark and closed places after I heard those tales.

I still –

'_Oooomph_!'

Oh My Gurdyroot! I'm being kidnapped! Oh heck, I'm paralysed, I can't get my wand! Shucks, someone just gagged me and tied me up! Flook flook! What do I do? _Flook_!

I knew it, it's the Japanese invasion! They are going to kill me because of all of the cameras I have burnt! They are going to slaughter my ruggedly handsome self because I was concocting a plan to murder that Fujitsu God-of-Cameras bloke! Oh no, I will most definitely die as pure as a –

'You… Are… My… Slave…'

My eyes open wide in fear. Oh no, oh no, no no, _no_! This is much worse than a horde of angry camera devotees! It's worse than Voldemort on PMS! Worse than Draco Malfoy after he discovered he was going bald! Worse than that one time when a garden gnome at The Burrow humped my leg!

It's her – _my stalker_!

Oh flook! She is groping me! Flook!

Harry Bloody Potter Saviour of the Frickin' World – where the blazes are you? Help! _Help_! I'm in distress! I'm like the fairy tale princess locked up in the topmost tower of a fancy castle, with a deadly enemy by my side. Only I'm not a girl. I have manly bits, if you must know. Yeah, seriously, I do. And I don't need a boy to snog me senseless.

'I missed you, Albie,' she whispers into my ear, making me shiver in revulsion. She's friggin' twelve! 'I have changed my name to Alba -' (_flook_! _Is she serious_?) '- Albus and Alba – it's _fate_! We are getting married in June at Madam Puddifoot's -'

Voldemort, _kill me_!

Screw my Manly Code, I'm about to get raped by a toddler, I want to cry and have my mummy and daddy with me!

Both fully clothed, though. Pervs.

' Don't move. I will have your child, Albie. It's going to take nine months for the stork to deliver it, so we must hurry. We could name him Alberic -'

My mind is screaming and my eyes are racing around frantically. I need to get out of here. I'm too young to be a dad, and I don't want to have a kid with a twelve year-old. I would be a terrible dad. I would end up miserable and stooping so low so as to steal Scorpius's shisha and drown my pain with it. It would break my dad's heart.

I could kill myself right now. I need ideas. Think, Al, think.

Resurrect Severus Snape and then give him a hug.

Tell Scorpius she is very pretty and that I want her babies.

Burn the Forbidden Forest in front of Lily.

Resurrect Sirius Black and have him watch me giving Snape a hug.

Resurrect Voldemort and wear a big "I support Harry Potter" badge in front of him.

Commit grammarcide in front of cousin Molly.

Outwit Hugo when he speaks like a gangster.

Transfigure myself into some wacky Muggle device and let Grandpa Arthur play with me. Oh. Ew.

Tell the newly resurrected Voldemort that he has daddy issues.

Throw a microwave at the newly resurrected Voldemort and scream "You're It!"

Huh? Come to think about it, I'm not being raped. I'm still wearing all of my clothes! Yay, I'm so happy I could do an Irish jig! Well, I would if it weren't for the fact that I'm still tied up. But the thing is that at least I'm not about to be defiled by some runt, which is good news.

Then again, she is hugging me to death and inhaling the scent of my hair with such a force it's as if I had a vacuum cleaner on top of my head. Oh drat, what if I turn bald? Oh no! This is horrible! I –

_BANG_.

'What's going on?'

I'm saved! I'm saved! My friend Elisabeth just turned up! I swear, I can see her dressed as an Amazona, a spear in her hand and sunshine and war music in the background! Tchan, tchan, tatachan, pweereepee peepee pee pump um dum, dada dun!

The brave warrior rescues the mansel – yes, I'm a mansel – in distress, covers him with an extra robe and guides the poor shivering and traumatised thing out of the place where he was tortured. She gives the evil fiend and glare so powerful the villain in petrified in her spot, but will of curse seek revenge.

The end.

Somehow I don't think fairytales are about incredibly handsome sixteen year-olds who are kidnapped by psychotic twelve year-olds and end up being rescued by a friend who resembles a super assassin birdie in leather clothes. But who knows? Thing might change. Take that, Cinderella!

I give Elisabeth a calculating stare. She looks tired and angry, her black hair is all over her face and her blue eyes are steely. Meaning, she is miffed. I better not tell her then that she looks a tad fit in leather clothes then.

I'll keep the image in my mind, especially for the next time I get kidnapped.

I sigh. I'm so gay sometimes.

**-oOoOoOoOo-**

**DISCLAIMER:** JKR owns Harry Potter, not me

**A/n:** So sorry for the delay! Seriously, exams at med school suck. Big time. I promise that if any of you burns my uni to smithereens I will update more frequently. Oh, and make sure you burn the exams too.

I really need my random muse to get back. I only have my cerebellum muse around. Pffft.

Until next time,

Vermouth

Member of the Siriusan Order.


End file.
